Page 99 of The Lost Husband

I shimmy to the side to block his view of the uniform. “You don’t need to worry,” I tell him. “We’ll get rid of it.”

But there is nothing but terror in his eyes.

FORTY-ONE

CURRENT DAY

Gliwice, Poland

We’re all staring at the German uniform as if it might explode, despite me telling Noah he doesn’t need to worry. Does he?

“They’ll find me,” he utters. “You aren’t safe.” He’s staring at me. Just me.

I don’t know where his confusion starts or ends, if everything is a blur, or if he’s remembering moments that only feel like today or yesterday. Most of his face is still unrecognizable and I want to see through it, to the man I memorized, but he doesn’t even sound like him.

“Food,” Elias says, already moving with intention. “God only knows how long he’s gone without eating. And I’ve seen what happens when people wait too long.”

Avi is sorting cans into groups on the ground.

“I’ll go grab the last bundles from the wheelbarrow,” Elias says.

Neither Avi nor Elias are saying much and I can understand why—what questions must be going through their minds. We’vebeen fed lies for years, so many, none of us remember how to trust another being. I’m no exception.

“Food won’t help,” Noah presses.

I place my hand on his cheek, trying to calm him. I close my eyes, remembering back to when I would do this just after we got married, when his mind was riddled with torment on how to keep us safe with a looming war. Despite my same fears, I knew a gentle voice and touch could calm him. It was a bandage over a wound that would never close.

Except, I don’t know why he was wearing the uniform.

Noah is staring at the uniform again, his eyes watering, gritting his teeth.

Elias is watching his every move, trying to understand what sounds like an unfamiliar language.

“An SS officer made me wear it—” His breaths quicken with panic.

“Noah.” I touch my fingers to his chest to urge him back down, to calm his breaths, to breathe at all. Color bleeds back into what we can see of his face, but I don’t think this is the right way to continue warming him up.

“Noah,” Elias echoes me, “everything here is all right now. We’re safe. Celina is safe.”

“You think I wanted this?” He pulls his hand out from beneath the blanket, pointing at the uniform. “I knew. I knew what it made me look like.”

I push myself upright and lift the uniform from the ground. “This,” I say, pointing at it, “is not you.” Noah’s hand clenches into a fist and he brings it up to his cheek, pressing against the bruises. “I know. You wore it to survive.”

I don’t know the details, but I know him.

Noah pulls in an unsteady breath, his voice pinching with a whine. “No, I wore it—to save you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, his lips stretching over his teeth. “The officer knew I had beensneaking into the infirmary to take care of you. He knew who to hold over my head.” His chin trembles. “You were—you were so sick, Celina.” I don’t move. I can hardly breathe. “He said—he said…” His voice catches before shredding into air. “Extra prisoner uniforms had been burned. Soviets were closing in. Guards were already leaving and taking what they could.”

His hand flinches beneath the sheet, a twitch, a shiver, or a tremor. I don’t know. His stare shifts between us, staring toward the door, unfocused, and unblinking.

“You came for me.”

“No,” he breathes. “I told him I wouldn’t touch it.” The word darts out of him. “Wouldn’t do it.” Noah grinds his teeth, a sound of stone against stone as an exhale sputters from his nose.

I’m not fully piecing together this story and I’m not sure he’s aware of what he’s saying. Yet, each word paints a picture I don’t want to see.

A tear falls from his eye.

“The SS guard looked at you then, just from the doorway. He could see you clearly and pointed his rifle at you,” he cries through a hoarse whisper. “He said if I didn’t trade uniforms, he’d drag you off the cot and—” Tears fill his eyes. “He didn’t need my clothes.” He gasps for a small breath. “He needed someone to wear his.”